Wasteland
by buttercups3
Summary: Miles is on the lam in the Plains Nation and the Wasteland with girlfriend, Nora Clayton, following his desertion from the Monroe Militia. During their ensuing wild western adventure, Miles reflects on scenes from his final years as general.
1. Chapter 1

_**Disclaimer:**__ None of these NBC characters belong to me, nor do I profit in any way from fanfiction. I do want to note that the flashbacks follow a story arc joint-concocted by Dareyoutoread and moi, while some other aspects of DYTR's canon have indelibly merged with mine to form SUPERCANON!_

_Rated T for sailorly swearing and sexiness._

* * *

Gray tendrils of smoke ascended through the hole of the tepee in languid, unpredictable paths. Nora enjoyed the smoke's peculiar combination of curious exploration and inevitability, as it always escaped to the sky in the end. She lounged in Miles' arms as he sat against their backpacks, and she could tell from the rise and fall of his chest against her back that he was not quite asleep. Miles smelled like smoke, firewater, and river, in that order, an alluring potpourri that divulged the tale of a most improbable adventure.

Nora was glad Miles was resting, as she'd honestly been a bit worried about him – more because he'd been through a lot rather than him exhibiting any outward sign of distress. Miles betrayed little in the way of emotions, and Nora knew him well enough by now to understand that this was not because he didn't trust her, but because he didn't trust himself. Miles had so many ancient wounds with which he'd never found a way to deal that it was safest to keep feelings locked down. And yet, he'd just abandoned his best friend of nearly forty years, the only long-term relationship he'd ever had to Nora's knowledge. He'd never breathed a single word about his blood family to her, and as far as Nora knew, a stork had simply dropped Miles out of the big blue directly at Monroe's doorstep.

That Miles had abandoned Bass was putting it delicately. In fact, Miles and Nora had recently executed a show-stopping escape from Philadelphia, which involved bombing militia headquarters, a failed attempt to assassinate Sebastian Monroe (by Miles), and the botched rescue of some woman named Rachel, whom Miles had failed to mention to Nora until said escape. Whoever Rachel had been, she was dead now. When Miles had informed Nora that they'd no longer need to recover Rachel, Nora saw a change in Miles' eyes. As little as she wanted to admit it, it looked remarkably like heartbreak to her. But it was pointless to be jealous of a corpse. Nora had spent her entire adult life in the Black and what she had learned was this: people you loved died all the time and a little piece of you died with them. Only thing to do was to bury both together and move on. Miles would have to let Rachel go, but Bass, well, he was still alive, because Miles hadn't been able to pull the trigger.

How Miles and Nora had come to reside in this tepee was a whole other story that even Nora didn't quite understand. On the way out of the capital city, they'd ditched their horses and fled on foot, scarcely pausing to rest for weeks. Miles had led them straight into what appeared to be former South Dakota in the Plains Nation.

Miles had been acting very peculiar for days, hardly saying a word to Nora – not that that was the strange part. He and Nora had developed such a symbiosis on the run that they shared a private, wordless lexicon of eye movements, subtle gestures, and nods that meant 'you take the left - I'll take the right,' 'don't move,' and 'I'm on point.' No, the oddness had begun once they crossed into the Plains, and Miles starting behaving like a bloodhound stuck on a scent. At one point, he actually put his nose into the grass to sniff, picking up what looked like an arrowhead between two fingers and squinting at it for a solid minute. And finally one afternoon, Miles stopped dead in his tracks - the hunter becoming the hunted - undid his sword belt, letting his only weapons clatter to the ground, and then got on his knees like he was praying to God. Slowly he interlocked his fingers on top of his head and closed his eyes. _The hell?_ Nora panicked. What wasn't she seeing – a sniper rifle honed in on them?

At once, they were surrounded by horses, intimidatingly towering but outfitted with such dainty legs that Nora wondered how they didn't snap like twigs. The height and fragility of horses was what she hated most about riding; the legs simply portended the possibility of being thrown. The riders of the horses – and this was really fucking weird – were honest-to-God Indians, like Nora had seen in wild western movies as a kid. They wore hides and feathers and were armed to the teeth with tomahawks, bows, and arrows. It was like Miles had managed to find a wormhole into the pre-European contact days of America. One glowering Indian leveled his bow at Nora and prepared a glistening arrow for her heart. She found it oddly hilarious that this was how she would die after all they'd just been through.

"Taŋyáŋ yahípi, Ohiti ke Ceta," boomed an exceptionally stony-faced man on a great, red horse.

Miles gazed up, cordially receiving the gibberish directed toward him. "Don't shoot, Shappa. We need your help."

Nora's head snapped toward Miles to search his face. Miles understood him?

"Théhaŋ waŋčhíŋyaŋke šni," Shappa answered Miles, his expression unmoved.

Then to Nora's utter astonishment, Shappa dismounted, approached the former general, and helped him to his feet. The equally tall men embraced like brothers.

"It hasn't been all _that_ long, Red Thunder," Miles commented after pulling away. "This is Nora."

"Your tawicu?" Shappa/Red Thunder asked.

Miles shrugged, and with the vaguest hint of a side grin, replied, "Not quite."

"Your what?" Nora tried to ask Miles as Shappa took her dark, slender hand in both of his. His face, however, was not exactly friendly.

"Wife," Miles translated for Nora out of the side of his mouth.

The word alarmed Nora. A beat later when she had processed Miles' amused response to Shappa's question, Nora's unease was replaced by another sensation: pleasure. Then, just as swiftly, followed irritation for acting the silly, lovesick girl. Marriage was a useless institution in the Black. Still, even Nora had dreamed of putting on a white dress as a little girl. And a blue garter. She wasn't sure why, but the childhood fantasy had always included a blue-ribboned garter with preposterously delicate lace.

After this initial greeting, Shappa and his warriors provided Nora and Miles with horses and led them down a winding canyon path to their village - an expanse of tepees, frolicking children, and women cleaning hides and cooking juicy buffalo meat. A small river ran through the camp, which had engendered a swath of green vegetation in the otherwise bleak landscape. There was something so warm about the scene that Nora almost forgot she was on horseback. As soon as she remembered, she was eager to dismount and set her feet upon solid ground again.

And that was how Miles and Nora had come to spend this night, relaxed, clean, and well fed in the tepee.

"So tired," Nora murmured, feeling deliciously drunk from firewater and wondering without real concern if she'd go blind from it. She got the sense that the Indians used the term 'firewater' ironically to make fun of their former white colonizers. In fact, she got the sense that they hated outsiders and there was a very specific reason why they tolerated Miles (whom several at dinner had referred to as 'The White Devil,' while others opted for the more flattering 'Brave Hawk').

Nora felt Miles kiss the top of her head and press his left cheek against her scalp. "Go to sleep," he suggested gently, though they were both still sitting up.

"Not yet. So rare that we get to be alone together somewhere comfortable," said Nora beguilingly.

She felt Miles smile against her head. "Let it never be said that woman are the weaker sex."

"Too tired?" she challenged.

Miles laughed hoarsely, a testament to his exhaustion. "I'm always happy to oblige you, babe."

Nora got up and led Miles over to where they had stretched out animal furs for their bed. Their rank bedrolls, which they'd finally had the opportunity to wash, were drying down by the river, and she found these skins had a not quite unpleasant feral smell. Nora watched Miles lie down but remained standing, studying him from the aerial view. He questioned her with a raised eyebrow.

"You _are_ going to explain to me who the hell these Indians are that we've taken up with, why they welcomed you with open arms, and oh yeah, why in God's name you speak…whatever it is they're speaking," Nora said matter-of-factly.

"They're Sioux Indians, they're speaking their tribal language, Lakota, and I only know a few words of it. But I do know these people, and they owe me, in a way. They're solid, Nora. You'll like them if you give them a chance, despite their unpalatable horse culture." Miles added this last part with a smile.

"And you know these people _how_?"

"I'll explain later," Miles yawned, his eyelids sagging.

In a swift movement, Nora was lying flat on top of Miles, and his arms encircled her.

She spoke just inches from his unshorn face, "Always so mysterious, Matheson. Frankly, I'm astonished that there are people who, well, _like_ you."

"_You_ like me." Miles said with a brief frown. "'Sides, that's why we left the Monroe Republic. To find people who don't - for the most part - want me dead." He was smirking now.

"For the most part?"

"I'm not universally loved among the Sioux."

"Now why does that not surprise me, White Devil?" Nora grinned back at him, before covering his lips with her own.

Afterward, Nora slept on Miles' chest, and now that he finally had the opportunity to sleep, he found he couldn't. But Miles did allow himself to indulge in feeling good for once, tucking a black curl behind Nora's ear, and feeling suddenly overwhelmed by an incredible fondness for her. He was grateful as hell for the fact that she'd helped him escape the militia and for the considerable skills she brought to their duo. And yet, he didn't feel the same passion for Nora as he'd had for Rachel – the kind that scraped out your insides and served them up for breakfast. But maybe that was a good thing. He and Rachel had never had a shot at something healthy. But what was the point in thinking about Rachel now?

Instead, Miles' mind wandered to an unexpected corner of his universe.

_Miles clutched a handful of medals by their ribbons; they clattered together in the wind like discordant wind chimes. He felt the breeze on the back of his neck and looked up at the sky, a milky shade of blue with whispered clouds. Miles was alive after taking a bullet in the abdomen – a terrible wound in the Black that most didn't come back from. The Trenton Campaign was a success, no thanks to Miles. Like the mythological egoist Icarus, Miles had soared too close to the sun with wax wings only to have them melt, plunging him and the soldiers he loved into a abysmal sea of death. One hundred and fourteen casualties later, Kip and Neville had rallied the troops to victory, while their general faced surgery in a medical tent._

_Miles pinned his men with the medals, starting with Kip and Tom, thanking each for their bravery with his eyes. No words could possibly convey his gratefulness. Besides, his chest was too constricted by something he hadn't felt since Afghanistan. Miles felt…defeated._

Underneath Nora's soft cheek that feeling was spreading again, sour-tasting and painful. Miles wrapped his arms around his girlfriend like a talisman. Eventually, he slept.

* * *

The translation of what Shappa (Red Thunder) says to Miles is as follows:

"Welcome, Brave Hawk."

"Long time no see."


	2. Chapter 2

_A/N: Thank you, DYTR, for the nicest and longest review ever! In return, he's the longest update ever. ;)_

* * *

When Nora awoke, Miles was gone. This surprised her, as she was generally a light sleeper. But she had been exhausted last night and possibly a little drunk. Her eyes felt just sensitive enough to prove it. As soon as she sat up, her body reminded her that she and Miles weren't being as careful as they once had been when Miles still had access to a stockpile of condoms in the capital city. It was impressive actually – Miles and Bass had amassed more prophylactics, whiskey, weapons, and ammo than she'd dreamed existed in the Northeast and Upper-Midwest. She liked to imagine that the condoms came from the former Canadian reaches of the Monroe Republic and the guns and ammo from the former United States. Canada, the country of love; the United States, the country of war.

She giggled to herself, but stopped short when she remembered why she was on the subject in the first place. Getting pregnant when she and Miles were two of the most wanted people in the world was not a good idea. And still…she couldn't help but be a little interested in their genetic combination. What had gotten into Nora to make her so sentimental lately – first marriage and now the baby carriage? She was a little disgusted with herself.

As she dressed, it dawned on her that she hadn't yet gotten word to Mia that she and Miles were safe. She wondered if she could get one of the Indians to carry a message for her…because one of the Sioux wouldn't stand out in the Monroe Republic or anything. She giggled again thinking about a headdressed, bareback-riding Indian prancing the streets outside of Philly looking for her sister.

Mia. Suddenly, Nora missed her terribly.

_Nora and Mia were lying on a Galveston beach, visiting their dad for the summer as usual. Even though it was dark out, Nora had to get out of the house. Her father had such a dominant personality, and it grew especially opaque and suffocating at night. She felt she just needed to see the sky again – with its millions of dazzling diamonds – and rest her ears with the rhythmic rolling of the Gulf's waves._

_"Nora?"_

_"Yeah, Mia?" Mia was at that age where she never stopped asking questions. It drove Nora crazy, but she tried to collect her patience. She didn't want to be like her father._

_"Do you think Mom and Dad will ever get back together?" Mia asked._

_This question was always like lime in a paper cut, and yet three years later, Mia was still asking it. Nora dutifully answered, "No."_

_"Why not?"_

_"Because they don't love each other anymore, hermanita."_

_"Do people get married just because they love each other?"_

_"I…" Nora was stumped here. She was pretty much in love with this boy, Devin, at school. He was a volleyball player and had floppy black hair as shiny as a raven's tail. But if love were the only criterion for marriage, then she sincerely doubted she would marry him. "You see those stars, Mia?" Nora asked, trying to sound wise._

_"Yeah."_

_"Well, they're all very pretty. But you know how you concentrate real hard on the sky, just hoping for that one shooting star, because they are so easy to miss? That's like marriage. You wait for the shooting star, and if you can catch it, it's the one."_

_"So Mom and Dad…"_

_"They weren't each other's shooting stars, I guess."_

_"Is Dan going to be our new dad?" Mia asked. Dan was their mother's new boyfriend._

_"No. Dad will always be our dad, even if Dan turns out to be Mom's shooting star. Family is family, Mia." Now Nora was just quoting her mother. But it seemed like the right thing to say, and it did get Mia to stop asking questions so that Nora could concentrate on the lapping waves again._

Nora missed the water, but she shook off the memory and opened the tepee flaps onto a dazzling morning on the Plains. Suddenly two little girls – twins it seemed – were on her, chattering so quickly that at first she thought they were speaking in their foreign tongue.

"Princess! Princess!" they hollered at her. They looked like they were about nine years old.

"What?" Nora asked them in amusement, pinching the bridge of her nose. Her hangover was threatening her with a headache now.

"Do you shoot? My name is Jane," said the pluckier one.

"I'm Kate!" said the shier one through her hair.

"Oh. I'm Nora. Pleased to meet…shoot?" Nora asked, a step behind them in cognitive processing this morning.

"Your husband, Brave Hawk, is shooting. Come this way!" Jane explained.

"He's not my…" Nora shook her head. Apparently for this trip, she and Miles were married. There was no stopping it, ornate blue garters and all.

Sure enough, there was Miles shooting – arrows, though, and poorly. He chuckled merrily at himself each time he missed the bullseye. He was with a group of three other men, including Shappa, none of whom were wearing shirts. It was hard to say who had the most tattoos. One Indian had a tattoo of a howling wolf that covered nearly his entire back. Miles' back was already reddening in the sun, and Nora felt like warning the lone white boy to put on a shirt before he hurt himself.

"Bet you're feeling pretty good about me coming on this hunting expedition right about now," Miles deadpanned. "I think I wounded my index finger, if anyone cares," Miles held up the disabled digit, while Shappa slapped him on the back, guffawing.

"Nora. Welcome. You shoot?" Shappa asked, immediately handing her a bow.

Nora got the sense that this was a test. She didn't have as much experience with a bow and arrow as with a gun or bombs, but she was a decent shot with any weapon. Besides, this bow had a pleasant familiarity to it, and she performed well under pressure. She willed herself to win and squinted at the bullseye, drawing her arrow.

Nora released and nearly hit the center of the target. In any case, she was much closer to it than Miles had been. The men cheered, except Miles, who had folded his arms and smiled silently at Nora, looking as if he didn't mind being upstaged in the slightest.

Suddenly, a group of Sioux approached on horseback. They appeared to be a warrior party, as they were outfitted with intimidating weapons, except Nora noted that there were women in this band. A round-faced woman with a long, gray braid and a teenager, her spitting image but with a black braid, dismounted and immediately approached Shappa. They both kissed him, and then the older one moved on to Miles and studied him critically from a short distance.

"Miles Matheson. The one they call Brave Hawk. What in Lucifer's name are you doing here?" she shook her head disapprovingly, before sweeping over to give Miles a hearty hug and kiss.

"Laura," Miles greeted her, allowing himself to be kissed. Then his eyes drifted past Laura to her miniature. "Weayaya," Miles said to her.

The girl moved languidly over to Miles and kissed him on his rough cheek. Was it Nora's imagination or did Miles actually blush?

Miles felt his cheeks burn – he hoped not visibly. He hadn't quite prepared himself to see Wea again, though of course she'd be here. As Wea had put her hands on Miles' bare biceps and leaned in to kiss his cheek, she had whispered, "Tókheškhe yaúŋ he?" (How are you?)

So Miles finally answered, "Still alive," flickering a smile at her.

_Miles had first laid eyes upon Weayaya at a dingy tavern on the very western outskirts of the Monroe Republic. She was perched in the lap of a militiaman. Miles had come in to have a drink with Jeremy and tried not to notice, though it made him uncomfortable. She was such a young girl and a staggering beauty. He had to will himself not to stomp over and order his soldier to get his filthy mitts off of her. Eventually, a scuffle broke out between the soldier and the girl, and Miles intervened, slamming him with eternal picket duty for disorderly conduct._

_Miles led the girl back over to where Jeremy still sat and asked the bar tender to bring her a water. She rolled her eyes haughtily. _

_"Where are you from?" Miles asked her, thinking, 'Where the hell is her family?' A girl with a face like that alone on the frontier…she wouldn't last long. _

_"The Plains Nation. Sioux country," she responded curtly. "I'm Weayaya. Setting Sun." She snorted, as if to say her name was stupid._

_"We're heading out that way. We can take you home," Miles said, taking a sip of hooch from a dusty glass. Out of the corner of his eye, just behind the counter, he caught sight of red and white stripes and a touch of blue. His heart sank. Now things would get ugly._

_Wea was watching Miles with a lifted eyebrow._

_"What does the Monroe Militia want with my people?"_

_Miles shifted his eyes back from the concealed American flag to the girl. _

_She was looking at him with a kind of hunger that made him very uncomfortable. "You soldiers planning on conquering the Plains now? You never have enough?"_

_"No. We're just securing the border," Miles explained, eying the clear booze in his glass. He hoped it wasn't poisoned._

_"Right," Wea said. "Why can't you white people ever just leave us alone? The Nations don't want anything to do with you. They won't attack, unless you set foot in their lands. Why make more problems for yourselves?"_

_Miles tried to decide if his throat was constricting or if it was all in his head. "I'll take you home to your family."_

_"And what if I don't have family or don't want to see them? Don't project your needs onto me, mister," she objected._

_Miles squinted at her. "It's not safe for you here."_

_"Well, of course it's not. The Republic's leaders are corrupt and its militia are a bunch of assholes," she smirked triumphantly. "What's your name, soldier?" she finally asked Miles, sizing him up._

_Miles almost smiled, forgetting his imagined impending death. "I'm Miles Matheson, the commanding general of the Monroe Militia. Co-founder of this shithole we call home."_

_"Great," Weayaya managed to roll her eyes again, betraying the rash gallantry of youth. She studied Miles intensely. "Well, I suppose you have gold then. You like to fuck?" she asked._

_Miles flinched. "With children? No."_

_"I'm not a child. I'm sixteen."_

_"Well, even I have my moral limits, kid," he said gruffly._

_She shrugged and tried to leave, but Miles grabbed her by the meat of her arm._

_"Not so fast. You're coming with us. You might be useful in our…negotiations." Miles then leaned past her and whispered to Jeremy, "Torch this place."_

Miles snapped out of the memory, wondering how much Shappa knew about his daughter's foray away from the tribe. Miles physically relocated his body away from Wea to stand closer to Nora, who shot him a questioning look. His bare arm just brushed hers, giving him more confidence.

After the raiding party had dispersed, Miles took the bow from Nora that she was still holding.

He said to her, "You'll have to make a choice tomorrow – stay here and be domestic or go out on our hunting expedition. Of course, the latter involves horses." Miles was relieved to take his mind off Wea. She always made him uncomfortable.

Nora's eyes narrowed at the mention of horses. Suddenly, the twins, who had been clinging like barnacles to Nora, each pulled on one of her hands, forcibly bending her down to their heights.

"Nora, are you a princess?" asked Jane.

"You are really pretty! Have you ever worn a crown?" Kate managed to squeak.

Nora giggled good-naturedly. "No. Definitely not a princess. But, well, I guess I did wear a crown when I was Miss Teen San Antonio."

Miles snorted and then he really lost it. For some reason, imaging Nora as a teenage beauty queen broke the dam, and all the laughter he'd been storing up for years exploded out. When Miles laughed really hard it was an almost silent, side-splitting affair. He held his stomach in an effort to keep his ribs from cracking and wiped actual tears of hilarity from his eyes. Finally, he composed himself enough to look over at Nora, hands on her hips, and the two children, who appeared stunned.

"Come on, Nora. S'funny. You, a beauty queen?" He chuckled again and was afraid he'd lose control once more. He forced himself to inhale and remain clam, because Nora did not look happy.

"What's so funny about it?" Nora was definitely pissed. She didn't act like a typical woman very often, so Miles suddenly felt at a loss.

"You're, well, you…" he began feebly.

"So what, I'm not pretty?" Nora almost seemed to be enjoying his disquiet now. There was no saving himself. Miles put his hands up in surrender and edged away.

Nora spent the rest of the day with some of the women in the village, becoming increasingly enamored of Laura in particular. Nora was impressed by how these people were gifted storytellers and constantly interwove the past with the present, as if there was no difference, and time was a useless construct invented by foolish white people.

Nora also found she couldn't shake off her irritation with Miles. She didn't recall ever seeing him laugh like that and didn't appreciate the first time being at her expense. It was silly, but something about the incident made her feel like Miles wasn't honoring her childhood. Just because _he_ was secretive didn't mean she had to disown her past too.

By the time Nora saw Miles again, she and Laura had joined the men around a bonfire after dinner. They were passing around a pipe, which Laura accepted and handed to Nora, who politely refused. It smelled rather like marijuana, and she didn't need another hangover in the morning.

"Nora's going to stay home tomorrow, Brave Hawk. She doesn't like horses," Laura said with a look of tolerant disbelief that made Nora smile at her new friend. "I'll stay home and rest, too. I need to have a council with the elders about what we saw…on the Edge." Laura exchanged a look with Shappa as she said this.

Laura took another puff on the pipe, before passing it to Miles and asking him, "You mind telling us how you came here, Brave Hawk?"

Then it dawned on Nora: Laura was the chief. Nora hadn't considered that a woman might be chief, but then again, what did she know about these people? She felt incredibly stupid that she had spent all day with this woman without realizing her status.

Miles blew out a long, silvery stream of smoke. "I'm no longer general, if that's what you're wondering."

"The woman and her family that you hoped to send to us to protect…Rachel. She never came," Laura said.

Miles looked at Laura from under his eyebrows. "I know. She's dead."

"I'm sorry."

Miles nodded and glanced down. "I think I'll turn in. Big hunting day tomorrow." He began to rise.

"Sorry, but, one more question, Miles," Laura stayed him with her authoritative voice. "You led us to believe that Rachel might be able to help us figure out a mystery: what is happening in the Wasteland. It's bleeding over to the Plains, you know. Some of the southern tribes have been affected."

"I don't…" Miles shook his head, dusting off his pants. "I don't even know that Rachel would have known, Laura. I'm sorry." His brown eyes shone with deep regret.

"If you want our protection from Otaktay – Kills Many – Sebastian Monroe," Laura corrected herself several times after registering Nora's confusion, "then we want something in return. Next week, Shappa and I ride out with a party to the Wasteland to see if we can understand. We'd like you to come."

Miles lifted his eyebrows. "It could be deadly."

This reaction surprised Nora. Miles was no coward.

"We need to know. It is part of our story now," Laura affirmed, her face set. Shappa looked less sure.

"Then, I'll come," Miles said. "But Nora stays behind. She doesn't owe you anything. I dragged her into this."

Laura nodded. "Nora'll make up her own mind. That's how she is," she added knowingly. And rather than taking this as galling presumption, Nora found she liked being known by Laura.

"I'll come," Nora said, not knowing what she was agreeing to.

"This calls for a new name!" Shappa proclaimed. "Ohiyesa."

Nora smiled. "What does it mean?"

Laura answered promptly, "It means Winner."

Miles shook his head. He would never live down Nora upstaging him with the bow and arrows.

Nora followed Miles back to their tepee, both walking silently as ghosts out of habit. Nora felt her coldness toward Miles from earlier returning now that they were alone. She said to his back, "What did we just agree to?"

Miles glanced at her with a heaviness in his eyes. "I wish you hadn't, Nora. We don't understand the Wasteland. Something's wrong out there. I've never been myself, but people die. There's a…a sickness? The descriptions sound horrible. And it seems to be growing."

Nora's eyes widened in the dark.

"You can still say no," Miles assured her.

"Don't want to. I'm going," Nora said automatically. If Miles was going, she was going. Despite her reckless willingness to commit to Miles, she couldn't quite let her irritation at him drop.

Miles held the flap of the tepee open for Nora and instantly began undressing. "You want a fire?" he asked.

"Miles, stop. I want to ask you something."

Miles was standing in his underwear and froze, looking at her. "You're still mad about earlier," he said flatly.

"Yes. And I don't know why. I know it's ridiculous to imagine me as Miss Teen anything."

"It's not, actually. You're a very beautiful woman, Nora."

Nora had to swallow. Miles had never said anything that direct to her before. Quite frankly, it felt a little like hearing, 'I love you' for the first time. She studied Miles' face, and he was dead serious.

Already feeling guilty that she was going to go here, Nora continued: "Why don't you ever tell me anything about your past?"

"My past?"

"You know, when you were a kid."

Miles rubbed the back of his neck, exhaling, and said, "Ah, Nora. What I've done…I've fucked up. I don't like to think about my family and how I've betrayed them."

Again, Nora wished she could stop herself, but she couldn't help but be curious after what Laura had said tonight. "Ok. I get that. But what about Rachel? It sounded like you wanted to send her here, but how did she end up at militia headquarters? Who was she, and what did she know?"

"Nora, I can't talk about her either. I'm sorry, I can't."

Nora thought Miles was going to shut down completely, but he actually stepped toward her and put his calloused hands on her arms.

"I know I'm disappointing you. I'm not good at this. Being with someone."

Heat was pouring off Miles' naked skin. He was always so warm. Nora shivered at the contrast with the night's chill.

"You're cold. Let me build you a fire," Miles urged.


	3. Chapter 3

_A/N: Thank you to DYTR for reading and reviewing! Reviews are the fuel that keep the story going when my own enthusiasm lags. _

* * *

Miles awoke in the darkness just before dawn to the gentle crowing of a hunter, rousing the lot. In an instant, he was taken back to being on campaign and waking before his men – stepping carefully between the canvas tents in his riding boots and listening for their breathing, reassuring himself that they were still alive. Or at least that was what he had done on every campaign following Trenton.

This morning, the inside of the tepee smelled of stale campfire, but the night had long since swept away the fire's warmth; Miles shivered even under the animal furs. Nora shifted next to him, her body toasty from sleep, and absurdly, Miles thought: _Lover_. That word had always seemed so stupid and cheesy to him, but somehow it had currently taken up residence in his mind accompanied by that same powerful fondness for Nora that had been growing in him for the past month. Though still mostly asleep, she opened her eyes to question Miles about the source of the sound outside.

"Hunting time," he reassured her. "Go back to sleep. I'll see you in 'bout a week."

She nodded and rolled over, before he could kiss her pink lips goodbye. He felt a pang of regret and was surprised at his own sentimentality. Being on the Plains did feel a little like trying on another universe – one that enabled him to be someone other than The General. Someone he might even be able to like…just a little.

As Miles pulled on his pants, he thought about how he had first become entangled with the fate of the Plains. In retrospect, he actually had Bass to thank.

_"Bass. Are you listening to me?" Miles had just announced his intention to ride up with a regiment to the Canadian boundary. Miles' dark eyes bored into the back of Bass's head, who had swiveled away from his best friend in his desk chair to stare out the window at the sultry spectacle of Philadelphia summer. Miles saw that a single viscous line of sweat dripped from a blond curl down Bass's sunburnt neck. It was humid as hell in the city this time of year – just another reason to ride as far north as possible._

_"Mm," was all the back of Bass's head produced._

_"Turn around and look at me then, President." The tone of Miles' last word bordered on contempt. He found his temper to be dangerously short with Bass these days. He shouldn't have even bothered to secure the presidential okay. Miles was commanding general; he could do as he pleased. Besides after decades of friendship, Miles knew Bass always caved to Miles' wishes in the end. At this moment, it almost sickened Miles that he still had this kind of influence over Bass. Sit. Lie down. Shake. Did Miles like having his way, or did he resent it? _

_"We'll stop at Nova Scotia," Miles explained when Bass had slowly turned around to face him. Bass' blue eyes looked bleary._

_"What the hell's in Nova Scotia? Cold. Barren. Nice people who apologize a lot. When have they ever caused a disturbance?" Bass was almost attempting to keep this light-hearted. Almost._

_"Yeah, well, maybe you haven't noticed, but our little kingdom is the tiniest of the territories. I can probably expand our border there without much of a fight, while locking down the fisheries. Besides, the United States always wanted Canada – tried to take it in two separate wars. Now it can be the Monroe Republic's for the low, low price of under 20 casualties." Miles cringed even as he made this modest estimate. He hoped it wouldn't come to any real battles. That was the point – bide his time, spare the men, but still, assert the Republic's dominance._

_"Says the guy who was constantly stoned in history class." Bass managed a half-hearted smile at his own joke. He leaned casually on his oak desk in front of the marbled fireplace framed by the Republic's flags like curtains on a stage._

_"Not stoned. Just bored. Look, I'm gonna do this. You stay here and do…presidential things." Miles coughed a little. He'd been smoking too many cigars lately and probably drinking too much whiskey. He wondered how long it would take him to die of throat cancer or liver failure. He hoped to God he wouldn't live past fifty. He'd killed enough by now that Hell probably had a shiny plaque above his own personal fire pit. At this point, that was the only welcome he could hope for in the afterlife. A plaque wasn't so bad._

_"Presidential things. And what would those be?" Bass drawled apathetically, leaning a cheek upon his hand, modeling summer torpor._

_"Hell if I know, Bass. Your domain," Miles grunted. He felt himself getting antsy and ran his hand roughly through his short hair._

_"Yes, yes, while you do the aimless maneuvering in the deserted reaches of our kingdom. I got that," Bass snapped, also lapsing into irritability. _

_Miles stared._

_"I need you here, Miles. People are unhappy, the rebels -" Bass softened slightly in an attempt to woo his friend._

_"Yeah, I've noticed," Miles cut him off impatiently. "I've got an insurgency problem shoved so far up my ass I can't even find it."_

_"Enema could solve that." Bass made a lewd gesture, nearly knocking his snifter of whiskey off his desk._

_"Try not to waste the last of our booze." Miles said, eying the glass with a look of vaguely amused contempt. "At its core, the rebellion's a political problem anyway, Bass. You need to figure out something. In the meantime, Neville's in charge of rooting out the rebels. He's a pretty scary son of a bitch."_

_Bass sighed. "Miles, at least consider taking the troops to a different border."_

_"What?"_

_"In other words, I **do** have a political solution to the resistance."_

_Miles raised his eyebrows. "Well let's hear it."_

_"Power."_

_"Don't follow," Miles said, still peevish._

_"Getting the power back – electric power – just for the capital city. Imagine what we could do with electric lighting, modern weaponry, the whole works. Our subjects would bow down and worship us."_

_Miles snorted._

_"I'm serious! We would instantly dominate the resistance and the other territories. Don't scoff," Bass complained._

_"How can I not? Do you know something I don't know about flipping back on the power? Did you discover some kind of magical switch while I was drinking last night? And I thought I was the wasted one!"_

_"No. But you know who knows."_

_"Oh come off it, Bass. I haven't seen Ben in years. He'd probably shoot me anyway if he saw me after all I've done. Although he's kind of a terrible shot…Rachel's not. She could hit me," Miles trailed off. Even saying her name called color into his cheeks and unsettled his stomach._

_Bass picked up his glass and swirled the whiskey in it, apparently waiting for Miles to process his proposal._

_"I'm not going after Ben, Bass," Miles reaffirmed after a moment._

_"Fine then. I'll do it myself," Bass responded._

_Miles instantly exploded. "Like hell you will!"_

_Bass stood up and walked over to Miles, glaring at his friend but remaining calm. It was Bass' typical defense against the violence of Miles' temper._

_"You know why you won't go after Ben, Miles, and it has nothing to do with how Ben might feel about your leadership of this Republic. You're still hung up on her, after all these years. Have you told your new girlfriend about that?"_

_Bile was creeping up Miles' throat, and he fought the urge to take a swing at Bass's face. "I am not fucking hung up on Rachel. Are __**you**__ still jealous after all these years that she chose me over you?" Miles spat. "And leave Nora outta this. She's not my girlfriend – just someone I'm banging. Someone who doesn't give a flying piss about who I've boned in the past, I might add." Nora meant more to Miles than that even then, but inexplicably, Miles wanted Bass off the scent of his growing feelings for the young mercenary bomber…for her own safety._

_Bass closed his fingers into a fist and released them. "Just hear me out, Miles," he said in a gentler tone. "Instead of Canada, go to the Plains. The people there have fragmented into traditional tribal living; they have no allegiance to each other. Their borders are weak; ready to fall. If you head out that way you can snoop around, see if you can't find out where Ben is and just talk to him. The choice is yours, but if you don't go...I'll send out a squad on my own." _

_Miles didn't know at the time that Bass intended to send out a squad either way – one that involved Cpl. Strausser, the most violent soldier in the whole militia._

_Miles put his hands on his hips, staring coldly at Bass. "The situation on the Plains isn't as simple as you think. There will be casualties if we fight on that border – lots of them. The Indians don't use traditional warfare. They ambush; they skulk. And they usually win, Bass. They trounced the Georgia Federation last fall – you know that. The only way to beat them is with a scorched earth campaign – total war – massacring civilians and burning their crops. You want to go there right now?"_

_Bass studied Miles with a raised eyebrow. "I never thought I'd see the day."_

_"What day?"_

_"Trenton changed you, Miles. Since then, you've been reluctant to put the men back into serious combat…Some might mistake it for cowardice."_

_Miles lunged forward, shoving Bass onto his desk. Bass' whiskey sailed off and shattered on the ground with a tremendous crash. The guards outside of Bass' office came bursting in, but Bass was already standing back up, straightening his uniform and smiling at Miles. _

_"Get the fuck out of my office, General," Bass said, waving off the guards casually at the same time. He stepped daringly back toward Miles, who did back off slightly - a little alarmed that he had just body-checked Bass without thinking. "Make your choice about Ben, and let me know," Bass finished._

_"I've made it," Miles growled. Then he ceased his usual slouching to achieve his full height. "I'll ride to the Plains with the men and try to locate Ben. In the meantime, you stay out of my family's business. I mean it, Bass."_

_Bass nodded his head: "Go on. Get out." _

Miles tied up his bootlaces and with a final glance at Nora, resting peacefully under the buffalo skins, emerged from the tepee to glimpse the sun rising over the Plains, an amorphous, orange blob of pale fire. Every time Miles saw a sunrise he couldn't help but feel incredulity that he was still walking this earth. As a final reflection on that old conversation with Bass, he wondered: Had Bass been right? Had Miles become a coward after Trenton? He'd certainly lost confidence in his instincts in the field – and he made all of his major decisions with his gut rather than his intellect.

Miles didn't really want to admit this to Nora, but part of the protection the Sioux were offering them at the moment was defense from his own faltering leadership. While here, Laura was in charge, and she was a hell of a lot smarter than Miles. In fact, she had been a professor of Native American Studies at South Dakota State before the blackout. Laura was only a quarter Sioux, perhaps a quarter black, and topped off with a soup of some other ethnic stuff, but she had been one of the first in the Plains to revive the old way of tribal living. Of course, this tribal living was an updated version – more equality of the sexes and some remaining American traditions. In any case, Miles was glad to defer to Laura and allow her concerns to become his for the time being. He loved Nora for following him out here and being game for this sojourn from reality.

Shappa was preparing the horses and waved Miles over. Unfortunately, Miles noted, Weayaya was coming on the hunting expedition. He tried not to notice that her honey skin looked the same color as the Dakota mountains.

"Saddle up, Ohiti ke Ceta. Unless your white ass can handle bareback now," Shappa grinned, his bright teeth flashing.

"No, my ass prefers a saddle, thank you," Miles assured.

Weayaya cast an interested look at Miles' behind when he mentioned it. "Gonna slay bison with your swords there, General?" she asked haughtily, her eyes having traveled to Miles' belt from which the scabbards hung.

Miles reflexively put his hand on his cutlery. "No, but now that you mention it, we should bring some rifles, just in case," Miles said to Shappa. "Don't know who might be looking for me out there. Don't worry - I'll play by your bow and arrow rules on the hunt. This is for protective purposes only."

A sadness crept into Shappa's eyes, but he nodded. "We're very low on ammo, Miles, but Laura's already okayed a small store for our expedition."

Miles nodded. "Laura's always one step ahead."

"She's a keeper. Although, I must say, I'm rather fond of your new girl, Nora."

Miles shot him a half smile, while Weayaya scowled and flung her leg over her horse. "Can we go? The sun's up, and you men are still chitchatting. The buffalo will have moved on."

* * *

At first, Nora felt awkward with Miles gone, but Laura proved to be an exceptionally welcoming hostess. She even allowed Nora to sit in on the elder meetings, and there, Nora learned what the Sioux knew about the mystery of the Wasteland.

"What symptoms did you see this time, Chief?" asked one of the elders. They were gathered in a large tepee with a blazing fire, smoking pipes and gnawing on vaguely cinnamon-flavored sticks. It was so hazy in the tent that Nora's eyes kept tearing up. No one seemed bothered by the smoke except her, so she politely fought the urge to cough.

"Really more of the same. The tribes on the borderlands looked weaker – dark circles under their eyes, rampant diarrhea, then: inexplicably, death. We briefly crossed into the Wastelands and the landscape there abruptly shifts into a sort of…gray ash. Petra, you'll come with us on the expedition next week?"

"Yes," the eldress replied. Oddly, she didn't look Indian at all, with blond hair and blue eyes.

Laura quickly explained to Nora, "Petra was a scientist before the Reckoning. That's what we call the blackout," she added, when Nora looked confused. Laura gazed back at Petra: "Radiation, do you think?"

"No. How could it still be spreading fifteen years later?" Petra questioned.

Laura rubbed her chin. "If radiation is still leaking from something?"

"If that's the case, then we will be in grave danger," Petra responded.

Nora shivered. She only vaguely remembered atomic weapons – school stories of Hiroshima victims vaporized on contact, or the survivors with a far worse fate: melting from the inside out, beginning with their intestines.

"Nobody has to come. This is a volunteer mission only," Laura assured. "Now, let's eat!" She passed around a platter of buffalo. Nora wanted to refuse, as she wasn't accustomed to eating so much meat, and it was beginning to toy with her innards. But she was hungry and took some just the same.

* * *

Six days later, the hunters were back, and Miles looked tanner, healthier. They unloaded the game they had killed. Miles winked at Nora by way of greeting and disappeared to wash at the river. All at once, she was powerfully overwhelmed by how much she had missed Miles and did not wait long to follow him. She stood on the banks of the river, hands on hips, coyly watching him bathe. Miles shot her a smile over a bare shoulder.

Finally, he emerged from the water, hair wet and eyes shining. He put on fresh underwear and knelt in the dry grass to yank a clean shirt over his head.

"Woulda thought you'd want be part of the festivities. They're gearing up for a big feast. You haven't seen nothing till you've watched these guys party," Miles said conversationally to Nora as he dressed. But his mind was preoccupied with his own guilt over what had happened with Wea on the hunt. Not that he'd encouraged it, but it had happened nonetheless.

_Last night, Miles woke from a dead sleep to find another body in his bedroll, pressed on top of him, stealing his breath._

_He reached for his sword, but Wea sank her knee deep into his crotch. It hurt like hell, and he'd have yelped if she hadn't covered his mouth. Her small but powerful hand only made it harder to breathe._

_"Wea, get off me," he muttered under her fingers, resisting the urge to bite and force her to comply. Wea was petite enough that it would be easy to send her flying, but that might also cause a commotion that would wake the others._

_"You can't possibly like that girl you brought with you. She's so…dark-skinned, and she doesn't even like to ride," Wea criticized just inches from Miles' face. She removed her hand from his mouth and entangled her fingers in Miles' wild, chestnut hair, pulling it away from the roots in a manner that produced pleasure and pain in equal parts._

_"So what: I should like a kid like you more?" Miles objected. _

_"She can't be much older than I am."_

_This stung Miles a bit. He was sensitive about the fact that Nora was 11 years his junior. He hated feeling old._

_"Get the fuck out of my bed before your father wakes up and kicks the shit out of both of us. I, for one, don't want to be stranded out in the middle of the Badlands because of some horny teenager," Miles whispered, just one hair above audible._

_"Your body seems to disagree," Wea said to him, smiling. _

_And fuck it all to hell: she was right, Miles realized. Wea's knee was still jammed against him in a not entirely unpleasant manner. In a swift movement, Miles flung her off him into the dirt. When Miles snapped, he stopped thinking and simply acted, regardless of the consequences. Sure enough, the sound woke up Shappa, and Wea tried to dust herself off before her father could deduce where she had just been. Miles was already walking away._

_"Where are you going, Brave Hawk?" Shappa asked, sounding disoriented and eying his daughter with a raised eyebrow._

_"To take a piss!" Miles' voice betrayed supreme irritation. He wasn't sure why his body had reacted to Weayaya, and he was mostly angry with himself at this point. Miles had never had much control over his own physicality. Like, for instance, when he had fucked his brother's wife... Now, here he was again, feeling desire in the pit of his belly. Did this mean he wanted Wea over Nora? How could a man possibly be so fickle? _

"Anything happen while you were out there?" Nora asked, breaking Miles' spell by the river. Her question was all too poignant.

Miles wondered for a moment if she could read his mind but then realized she probably meant Monroe. "We caught sight of a few Militia soldiers but managed to avoid them. The Sioux are nothing if not elusive. You? Anything interesting happen here?" he asked, quickly changing the subject.

Nora didn't seem to notice. "Well, all the buffalo meat is starting to get to me." She frowned and then smirked.

Miles chuckled. "Ah, Sioux sickness – or that's what I call it, anyway. Where you don't shit for days on end because of all the red meat."

Nora nodded in mock seriousness. "I think my intestines have gone on strike." She gripped her midsection in confirmation.

Miles stuck his legs into his pants one by one. "Rhubarb. Natural laxative. We'll find you some. Riding isn't fun when you're sitting on a brick."

Nora snorted. Then she instantly forgot her amusement when she realized what he meant. They'd be leaving for the Wasteland soon. "While you were gone, I sat in on the elder's council."

"Really? Laura must like you." Miles was impressed. He pushed down another pang of guilt that he had almost accidentally screwed Laura's teenage daughter last night.

"Well, I've got a winning personality. Anyway, the elders seem worried that the sickness in the Wastelands might be related to radiation."

Miles stood back up to his full height and gazed into Nora's pretty brown eyes and instantly got lost in them, forgetting the subject at hand. He couldn't help himself. He'd missed her, and just maybe he had a little excess energy stored up from last night. He leaned in and kissed her lips, closing his eyes, and promising himself that this was right – kissing Nora. This was what his body wanted. He had control. Finally he pulled his face back, encircling her hips with his arms.

"Hey," Nora said gently, acknowledging his need but still wanting him to comment. "Radiation: Is that what we'll be facing?"

"Don't know anything about that, Nora. But well, something's bad there. Again, I reiterate my position that you shouldn't come. You've got too much life ahead of you to take that kind of gamble."

Nora snorted and ran her hand over Miles' rough cheek, letting it fall onto his shoulder. "But you've given up in your old age, Matheson?"

Miles slid his hands under her shirt. Her back was velvet soft. He cursed himself for having wasted all that time just now getting dressed. "You wanna give me a reason to live?" He grinned.

Nora was game and wrapped her arms and legs around him, as Miles lifted her up into his arms. "Well if getting laid is enough to keep you going…" she offered usefully.

"Oh, it'll do."

Nora felt Miles' body change - that magnetic energy where each of his muscles turned rock hard and commanded her into his orbit. She clung to him tightly as he walked her over to a plot of grass behind a few large boulders. He lay down on top of her rather forcefully, but then incongruously, brushed the hair out of her face with the utmost tenderness.

"Seriously, Miles. This isn't a suicide mission, is it?" Nora asked.

Miles laughed lightly at her. "Nora, if I wanted to die that could be easily arranged. I know how to point and fire a weapon. Or I could just wander back into the capital and stick my head in Bass' direction…" Miles pushed against her needily, and suddenly she didn't care if they were going to die. It wouldn't be a bad way to go out here with these kind-hearted people…and Miles.

Nora cracked one eye open as she felt Miles place his lips where he had just undone the button of her pants.

"Will someone see us here?"

Miles shrugged. "Eh. The Sioux aren't as prudish as white folks. Sex happens. They just look the other way."

Nora threw back her head laughing. "I don't even want to know how you know that, Miles Matheson. You're a totally shit boyfriend. Shut up and do what you're good at."

"Swordplay?" Miles gazed up at her, looking ridiculously eager.

His expression made Nora giggle helplessly. She put a foot on his shoulder and shoved him with some force, but not so hard that he couldn't get right back to business.


	4. Chapter 4

_Sorry about this, dudes – I hate to make changes to my stories after writing them, but I went back and adjusted a timeline in chapter two. Originally, I had Miles meeting Weayaya two years ago, but I took out that time indicator to make it more recent (and vague). Figuring out the timeline of the show so far can be hard – especially when the scraps of info the creators provide on the website and in the episodes contradict on occasion. _

_Also I'll probably wrap this story in one more chapter. I do not have time to write at the moment and hate to leave a story undone, especially when we're about to have more SHOW CANON (woot!) in a matter of weeks.  
_

_Muchas gracias to everyone who has been reading and reviewing!  
_

* * *

Riding never got easier for Nora. Currently, her horse was teetering in a sea of horses, giving Nora the illusion that she was on a rubber raft in the middle of the Atlantic during a storm. With Miles to her left, Laura's entire family to her right, and an additional fifteen Sioux or so, they made quite a large party. Miles arched an eyebrow at Nora to inquire after her, and she nodded. Miles was heavily armed – his swords at his belt, a rifle over one shoulder and ammo over the other, and bow and arrows dangling from his saddle. Nora wondered if he imagined Monroe would track them, or if he was mainly concerned about the threat of the Wasteland. Miles handed Nora a rifle, which she slung over her own shoulder in a swift movement. She, too, had a bow, but they were both better shots with a gun. Miles continued looking at her rather intensely, his opaque brown eyes boring into her.

Finally she asked him, "What?" with a trace of impatience.

"Don't want you to come," Miles grumbled.

"Miles, we've been through this."

Miles shifted his horse so that he was closer to Nora. _What is his problem?_ Nora wondered. It's not like they hadn't been in danger together before. And then it occurred to her: Rachel. Miles had lost that woman, and he couldn't bear to lose Nora too.

Nora was beginning to think he'd never stop staring at her, so she put her hand on top of his. "I'll be fine. Besides, chances are if I die, you'll be dead too." Nora winked at him reassuringly.

Miles didn't smile, but she felt his fingers coil briefly up and around hers before she retracted her hand.

"Sentimental old fool," she whispered so that only he could hear.

He pursed his lips briefly, but the comment did finally extract the trace of a grin.

Miles rode away from Nora thinking of the only other person who had ever called him sentimental.

_"Shit, Miles. No one gets this about you but me. You barely crack a smile or shed a tear. But you're this enormous invisible sap, who cannot let go of the people he's loved. You never move on." Bass was talking about Rachel, of course._

_Miles squinted at Bass on horseback in the afternoon sun in an attempt to decipher the sentiments underlying his best friend's statement – after all, they had been rivals when it came to Rachel. They had both loved her, but she had chosen Ben to marry and Miles to screw on the side. Miles found that he couldn't read Bass' complicated mask. Had Bass ever really forgiven Miles? Certainly time had passed and healed some wounds. But worse than the actual affair to Bass had been the fact that Miles hadn't confided in his best friend about it. Rachel had accidentally let it slip to Bass, believing that Miles had already told him everything. And now, here was Miles, after all these years, suggesting—_

_"So, you want to bring Rachel to Philly instead of Ben?" Bass asked skeptically. "You really think Ben would have told her what he knew about the blackout?"_

_"Rachel tells Ben everything, Bass."_

_"Like when she told Ben about fucking you?" Bass asked, bitterness creeping into his voice._

_Miles shifted uncomfortably in his saddle. Ben had figured that out on his own – all Rachel had done was to confirm. Miles was stationed at Parris Island when he'd gotten a phone call from his brother, clearly inebriated – and Ben was never drunk. Ben's voice had strained and cracked – a sob of agony and betrayal – as he asked how Miles could have done this to him. Miles apologized over and over again, and it was true: he was so, so desperately sorry for the pain he'd caused his brother. But the odd thing was, after that, they'd never spoken of it again. Rachel and Ben's marriage hadn't ended as Miles thought it might. Bass and Miles had even visited Chicago one last time for Christmas, and though Ben didn't say much to Miles, neither did he punch his little brother, or rail against him, or confront him at all. Miles and Bass went back to base and then…the blackout happened._

_Miles finally answered Bass, "Look, Ben would never leave the kids, and there's no way in hell I'm letting you bring Charlie and Danny to Philly." Miles believed that Ben's devotion to his children was what had tied him to Rachel long after he'd been cuckolded. "Rachel…well, I can get her to come."_

_Bass' face had fallen into a sickly pallor as he eyed his friend. "Ben __**will**__ come if I have Strausser tail his children. In fact, that's already in place. Strausser's been on them for days. He knows exactly where they are and simply awaits orders."_

_"You son of a bitch," Miles growled making a fist. Zeppelin, his horse, stamped underneath him as he telegraphed his ire into her loins. "How dare you have my family followed! Strausser doesn't wait for orders – he's a complete psychopath. You know that! Besides, I located Ben out West just like I said I would. What…don't trust me anymore?" Miles spat._

_Bass scoffed. "Well, you sure as hell didn't bring Ben back with you or extract a single piece of information from him. Did you even talk to him?"_

_"Well, no, but I found out where he is, so that I can get a message to Rachel. It's the better plan, Bass," Miles said, trying to control his voice to make a convincing case._

_Bass answered coldly, "So why exactly is it you're so sure that you can get Rachel to come here? What makes you think she'd be willing to leave her children?"_

_"She…she owes me. Just…" Miles was about to say 'trust me,' but that ship seemed to have sailed. "She'll do it. I know she will," he said with simple conviction._

_Bass studied Miles' face. "I want to see your letter to Rachel before it goes out."_

_"No," Miles said quickly._

_"Ah. Who doesn't trust whom, Miles?"_

_"What are you afraid is gonna be in that letter, Bass?"_

_"I'm afraid you don't plan on encouraging her to come to Philly at all – that you'll warn her off instead," Bass said. "We aren't on the same page about the Republic these days. I thought you agreed with me that the insurgency problem needed a political solution. Now that I suggest one, you don't seem to like it."_

_Miles took a deep breath. "No, you're wrong. I do think that having access to power would be an effective way to psychologically and physically dominate the rebels. I can and will get Rachel to come. If Ben knows anything, she knows it too. You have my word on this, Bass."_

_Bass' blue eyes softened. He reached out across the chasm between their horses and grasped Miles' shoulder briefly. "I want to believe you. Things just haven't been the same between us lately. You know you're the only family I've got."_

_"I know. Same here."_

_"But Rachel –"_

_"Rachel's complicated. I closed the door on that family a long time ago when things got fucked up. We'll get the information we need out of Rachel and then send her back to her kids. Do I have __**your**__ word on that?"_

_"Of course," Bass responded blandly._

_Miles wasn't at all convinced, but it was unlikely that Bass had believed Miles' promise either – and with good reason. Miles had other plans for Rachel, for her family, and for himself. He was going to desert the militia, and if all went accordingly to plan, he wouldn't see Rachel or the other Mathesons ever again. His friends among the Sioux would ferry them to safety. Indeed, chances were that Miles wouldn't survive at all. But if he did, maybe he and Nora would have some real time together, and he could forget about Rachel once and for all._

Of course, here he was - against all odds - still alive. Miles shook off the memory as the Sioux began to ride. In his peripheral vision, Miles noticed Wea encroaching on his right. Just what he needed – this persistent, petulant teenager on his case.

"This reminds me of the first time we set off on a journey together, Brave Hawk: remember? Hopefully you don't pull the same kind of mischief this time around." Wea winked, and Nora noticed how long and thick the young woman's eyelashes were.

Nora wondered if Miles and Wea had done it. Because the journey to the Wasteland would be long, and Nora needed a distraction from the horses, she decided: What the hell? Why not ask Weayaya to elaborate a little. Miles wasn't exactly one to divulge much about his travels, but if Weayaya had the same proclivity for storytelling as her mother, this could be fun.

"So when did you and Miles first go on a journey together?" Nora asked Wea, trying to excise any jealousy from her voice. She saw Miles' back stiffen in front of her but pretended not to notice. Wea pulled up beside Nora's horse, obviously eager to indulge Nora's curiosity.

"General Matheson first came across me in a borderland saloon. Thought I was being manhandled by a militia asshole – not that I needed saving. I can take care of myself. Anyway, Miles got pissed at the soldier, said he'd take me back to my family. He didn't ask if that's what I wanted – just told me that's what he'd be doing. That's Brave Hawk for you." Wea shook her head a little, but a mild smile played at her lips. She appeared to delight in 'knowing' Miles.

"You're a very ungrateful daughter," Shappa chastised from further up the line of horses, though Nora couldn't tell if he was serious. She did see Miles and Shappa exchange a look, though she could only see the backs of their heads.

Wea shrugged in her usual haughty manner. "In any case, Miles torched the saloon. Not sure why, but I heard him give the command to the blonde officer. Miles didn't even order the place cleared first – just lit it on fire. There was screaming and burning. The militia shot up anyone who made it out alive, but Brave Hawk just walked right on by the madness with me by the arm and flung me onto his horse. We left with only a small band of soldiers, while the rest stayed behind to do the purging. It seemed to me even then that Miles had really picked the dregs of the militia – I mean the dirt dumbest of his men – to accompany us. Then…well, I'm not sure Miles wants me to tell this part."

Wea looked impish. Up ahead, Miles' shoulders appeared so tight they almost touched his ears. Nora thought she saw Shappa whisper something to Miles, who appeared to shake his shoulders a little and loosen his grip on the reigns.

Wea was far from done. "We were camped with the militia imbeciles one night, and they were all asleep except me and Miles. I thought it rather strange that a general would keep vigil for his own men, but what do I know about white armies? You do lots of stupid things. It's why the Indians always win."

Again Miles and Shappa exchanged a glance. Shappa looked like he was going to turn around and finally instruct his daughter to shut up, but it was Laura who called sharply from further up, "Watch your mouth, and don't speak of things you know nothing about."

Wea only looked the slightest bit chagrined, but she barreled ahead with her story. "What happened next I was completely unprepared for. Miles, well, he provoked me, I guess you could say, then handed me his sword and told me that if I didn't take him as hostage, I'd never get out alive."

Miles was glad that she hadn't gone into the details of that particular portion of the story – not that she hadn't already cast him as an ice-cold murderer. In order to convince Wea to take him hostage efficiently and quietly, he'd threatened her virtue, one might say. Not that he was serious - he'd never have touched her. It had worked in any case, though it had also seemingly contributed to the unwanted flirtation she'd been indulging in ever since.

Wea again: "Sure enough, some of the other soldiers woke up, and in order to escape, I took Miles hostage, just like he'd asked. He ordered the militiamen to just let him go. He said it would be easy to find his moment to kill one stupid little girl and that he'd be back with them at post before they could even miss him. This arrogance chafed me a little, so I cut Brave Hawk's throat just a little to shut him up and convince everyone I meant business." Wea laughed at that. "Don't worry. He was fine."

Nora thought this had to be the strangest and most unpleasant girl she'd ever met. Not at all like the equanimous Laura.

"We rode hard to get away from the soldiers. Miles said not to worry – we could easily out-ride the fools at camp. He was right – they never even got close to us. Miles told me that before he took me back to Dakota territory we were going to look for some guy in Wisconsin. By that point, I knew I had to go home eventually – I wouldn't be welcome in the Monroe Republic after kidnapping their general. So I agreed to it."

"Who were you looking for?" Nora asked curiously more to Miles than to Wea, but it was Wea who answered.

"Don't know. Some guy named Ben. Anyway, Brave Hawk likes to preserve his mysteries. Makes him feel manly."

Miles shot back a disapproving glance, and Nora could see on his face that he was genuinely livid. She felt the slightest twinge of regret that she'd let Wea embark on this story in the first place.

Wea stuck her tongue out at Miles and continued, "Once we caught sight of this Ben, we just moved on without so much as a word to him. It's like Miles only wanted to confirm that he was still alive. Anyway, Miles took me back to my tribe and even stayed awhile. He promised Mother that he wouldn't allow the militia to invade our border - not while he was general. He said he couldn't secure us a formal treaty, because he and President Monroe were at odds, but he did visit us a few more times to check up on us. Seemed to really feel at home with the Lakota. Perhaps Miles has a Sioux soul like Petra."

Petra the blonde, blue-eyed scientist was riding up with Laura and either didn't hear or refused to acknowledge the conversation taking place to her rear.

Nora pondered the ending of this story. She had no idea who Ben was, but she wasn't surprised to hear that Miles had no intention of expanding the western border of the Republic. Nora thought she could probably pinpoint when this campaign had taken place; she remembered Miles embarking on a Plains campaign. This would have been right around the time that he began to plot his private insurrection from within the militia.

Riding up next to Shappa, Miles' anger sank into melancholy. He remembered hiding with Wea in the bushes to catch a glimpse of Ben and his family gathered at their campfire. He recalled how he had tried not to look at Rachel or her two stunning children. How he had tried not to think about what it felt like to run his fingers through Rachel's golden, cornsilk hair. Miles didn't know how Ben and Rachel had possibly held their marriage together after the news of the affair broke – but then again, he supposed he shouldn't be surprised. Ben was noble and magnanimous and the blackout had hit so soon afterward. Ben would never have abandoned his family in their time of need. Unlike Rachel.

_Dear Rachel,_

_It's been years. You probably don't want anything to do with me given how things turned out in the Republic. I know things have gone to hell. But, the truth is: I need you. Bass is convinced that Ben knows why the power went out and can help him to get it back on. Bass thinks power will subdue the resistance where everything else has failed. You, the kids, Ben – you're all in grave danger. Bass has a tail on you, the most ruthless soldier I've ever met: Corporal Strausser. He'll stop at nothing to hunt you down, and if he gets his hands on you or anyone in the family, he'll make you wish you'd never been born. The only thing I can think to do to get Bass off your backs is to satisfy his curiosity about Ben. Bass wants Ben to come to Philadelphia…but it's you that I need to see. You know everything Ben knows; I've convinced Bass of that. Rachel, you must turn yourself in to the militia right away. Let Ben stay behind and protect the children.  
_

_I still love you. It's like a sickness that eats at me every second of every day. I can't live without seeing you at least one more time. I feel like I'm surviving on borrowed time as it is, and well, I just don't know how much longer I'll be around. I have so many regrets. My biggest regret is not fighting for the chance to tell you to your face how much I love you. You slipped away, and I just let you, because I believed what we'd done was so wrong. It was wrong to hurt Ben, but the feelings I have for you – they can't be wrong. No matter what happens – if the world were to end all over again – it wouldn't change anything about the way I feel for you. I love you, Rachel._

_Please come. It's the only way to keep your family safe. If you still love me – even just a little – please come._

_Miles _

Miles had written and rewritten that letter a hundred times – so many times that it was still committed to memory. Every word of it was true except for the part where he'd begged her to turn herself in. He hadn't wanted Rachel to come to him at all. He'd given specific instructions to his courier under threat of death to carry the letter clearly marked _To: Rachel Matheson_ and place it directly in the hands of none other than Ben Matheson. Miles was banking on the fact that Ben would read the letter and, frankly, feel devastated all over again. Ben would do the smart thing and never breathe a word to Rachel. He'd get his family the hell out of the Republic and disappear forever. It killed Miles to do this to Ben – hurt him all over again – but it was the only way to save them. Miles' own days were numbered anyway. He had to save his family before he undid the Republic from the inside out.

Un-fucking-believable how badly fate had turned against Miles. He had sent the courier according to plan. Only later did he learn that Bass intercepted the letter and read it, unaware that the letter was intended for Ben. Though Bass already knew that Miles still loved Rachel, it must have infuriated him to see the raw emotions committed to words. But Bass must have also realized that the letter would indeed draw Rachel to the militia, or he wouldn't have let the messenger continue on his way. Neither Miles nor Bass could have anticipated what happened next. The courier was ambushed by rebels, murdered in the woods. Yet somehow – and this was the worst part – the letter had been recovered by another militiaman who saw that it was hand-signed and stamped by the general himself. In an act of heroism that would surely earn the soldier a medal from General Matheson, the militiaman didn't rest until he had placed the letter in the hands of the addressed recipient: Rachel Matheson.

Did Rachel even hesitate before following through with Miles' apparent wish to turn herself in? Did she even consider for a moment just taking her family and running for the nearest border? It turned Miles' stomach to think of it but that was the force of their forbidden love - forsaking everyone, tearing down the world around them. And to think: The children. Charlie and the sickly one, Danny...what they must have gone through when their mother left them after giving what Miles imagined was a flimsy excuse of goodbye.

It was only a few days later when Rachel appeared before Miles in the militia camp, incredibly, like a ghost from his past. She looked almost happy to see him, as a soldier chained her wrists. Miles could barely look at her.

"Miles, just promise me that I'll see my children again," was all she said, or something to that effect. That was it? That was what she had to say for herself after receiving a letter like that?

Miles felt so dizzy that he had to turn away from her. His plans to save Ben's family, to destroy the militia – all ruined. His affair with Rachel would never stop bearing ugly fruit. And yet, there she was, just as beautiful as ever. As much as he hated her for destroying all the hope he had left, he loved her still, so desperately. He would have given anything to touch her again – to run his calloused fingers over her smooth cheek and kiss her pink lips. But he turned back to his map and crushed its corner in his fist. He squeezed his eyes shut and prayed he'd never have to open them again. He could taste the bitterness of fate on his tongue.

Even now, traversing the Plains with the Sioux on an unrelated journey, Miles could taste the bitterness. He gazed at the endless horizon of the grasslands and cursed it – so full of possibility but not for him. Part of him hoped the Wasteland would finally have his number. Another part of him harbored this strange new longing to go home to Chicago. Why, he did not know. He'd spent his entire adult life as a nomad: soldering in Iraq and Afghanistan, training at Parris Island, wandering after the blackout, campaigning for the Republic. What was it that he wanted to see in Chicago? His childhood home? His mother's grave? All traces of a simpler time before he had ruined everything.


	5. Chapter 5

_A/N: This is it for this story...but the good news: new material enters the stratosphere next week. Looking forward to more canon and then lots more fanfic to follow._

* * *

It was a week into their journey south, and with each mile closer to the Wasteland, Miles felt a sting of impending calamity. The sun was currently rising above their bivouac, imposing a strata of colors on the landscape – the black rock formations, still in shadow; the piercing gold of the high plains sun; and the electric blue of the night sky, relinquishing the field. Miles shook his head at it all. So beautiful; such a waste. He was the only one awake, and so he gave into troubled memories.

_By the time Rachel had surrendered herself to the militia camp in response to the letter, Miles had already been with Nora for long enough that even writing the letter had felt like cheating let alone the emotions that surged in his loins when he laid eyes on Rachel again. Sure, he and Nora had made no promises to each other, but he was sensitive about fidelity in the wake of his affair with Rachel. He wanted to be true to Nora. He hated the thought that Rachel still had power over him._

_Miles had his men take Rachel to a tent to hold her, while he figured out what in God's name to say to her. He wanted to tell her, Thanks for fucking up everything. You were supposed to be a hundred miles away by now, and I was supposed to be free of the militia - or dead. But now…here we both are. And we have no choice but to go back to Philly together to show Bass that he can still trust me and buy me the time to figure out what to do next._

_Of course, Miles and Rachel could just leave right now – maybe going down together in a blaze of glory – but then the militia would remain as intact as ever. No, he owed it the Republic to undo what he'd done if he could. He'd have to regroup and plan a new out that would include Rachel. How he'd keep her safe he'd never know._

_Miles took a breath and opened the flap of the tent where Rachel was perched on a crate, her creamy, regal neck almost swan-like. He tried not to stare at it. He had an odd habit of taking in Rachel in sections, as if he couldn't stand to look at the whole person at once. Perhaps it was a product of his ancient shame._

_Miles instructed the guards, "You're dismissed. Ready the horses for the ride back to the capital. Now!" Miles added when he saw their hesitation. In a flash of obedience, they were gone._

_Miles attempted to remain calm, though his blood was pounding in his wrists and neck. He pulled up another crate to sit across from Rachel. His brain utterly betrayed him and refused to produce any coherent words, so he just swallowed. He had to think of something to say to her. Why wasn't he coming up with a plan B to get them out of the militia? This might be his only chance to relay information to her in private. And yet…maybe it was safer not to tell her anything at all. Would she break under torture, if Bass stooped to that? Miles found he didn't know. In fact, he didn't know Rachel at all in this dark, new world._

"_I came like you asked," Rachel finally said, her eyes wide. _

_And then Miles remembered: the letter. 'My biggest regret is not fighting for the chance to tell you to your face how much I love you.' Did he have the guts to say it now that he was confronted with this very reality? After all, he'd never meant for this moment to come to pass, and yet, here she was._

_Miles let his face fall into his hands._

"_Miles?"_

_When he finally looked back up, her softness had given way to a more primal and frightening emotion that he couldn't identify._

"_Miles – what have you and Bass done? It's unspeakable. You've killed so many."_

"_You want to lecture me about the Republic?" Miles asked in astonishment and then swift annoyance. He didn't have time for this. He was trying to find a way to make it right, goddammit, and she had already ruined it. Now she was just pouring salt in the wounds._

"_No. I came because…" Rachel's voice trembled.  
_

"_Why?" Miles pressed impatiently. Why had she betrayed her entire family __**again**__ on his behalf? What was wrong with her – wrong with both of them?_

"_You know why, Miles."_

"_No. I don't. I don't get why both of us are so hell bent on destruction."_

"_I came because you asked."_

_Miles almost laughed. He looked at her like she was insane. "You don't take orders from me."_

_Rachel's hands were cuffed but her feet were mobile. To Miles' horror, she got up off her crate and knelt before him. Then she buried her head in his lap and began weeping. She had such an emotional pull on Miles even after all these years that he almost immediately felt wetness rise to his own eyes. He tried to collect himself and put a shaking hand on her head._

"_Why would you write me a letter like that – ask me here – if you didn't want me?" came her small, scared voice. Miles' eyes must have betrayed more than he'd intended._

"_Rachel, look at me," Miles said, because he didn't want to say this to her hair.  
_

_She looked up, viscous lines of tears marring her perfect, ivory flesh.  
_

"_I didn't intend for the letter to get to you. I wanted your family to get away. The Republic's not safe. I'm going to try to…to end it."_

_Rachel looked seriously into his eyes. "What? What happened? How did I get a letter I wasn't supposed to get?"_

"_Bad luck. It doesn't matter now. You'll have to come with me to Philadelphia, and I'll come up with something. But…I don't know if I can protect you from __**him**__, Rachel. He's changed."_

_Rachel studied Miles' face from beneath him._

"_And you? Have you changed?"_

_Miles found he was suddenly exhausted. "Not as much as I'd have hoped." He felt like he had spent eons trying to get over this woman to no avail. _

"_But the letter. It was a lie?" Rachel asked._

_Here Miles had to make his choice. He swallowed, thinking: I love you, Rachel Matheson. I love you so much it's breaking me. But what he said aloud was: "The letter was a lie to fool Bass. It was never meant for you."_

_Rachel made a strangling sound. Miles got up and walked out of the tent, ordering a few nearby soldiers to resume guarding the prisoner._

Miles was ceaselessly haunted by this memory, and it would be one of his last of Rachel. His life was simply lie upon lie. Miles looked once more at the dramatic sky and then down at Nora still asleep in her bedroll. Suddenly he didn't care that the rest of their party was sleeping all around them. He lay down beside her, face to face, encircling her with his arms. Nora lazily opened her eyes and smiled.

"Hey," she said sleepily.

Miles kissed her gently.

"Ow," she complained, rubbing her lips. "Prickly."

He smiled wearily at her.

"Nice to wake up to you though," she said yawning.

The words made Miles feel warm. "Yeah," he agreed, though he hadn't woken up to her. He'd woken up to the same old bitter memories.

Later, the party began roasting buffalo for breakfast. Miles and Shappa were laughing at the cowboy hat Shappa had given Miles for the journey.

Shappa flicked the brown rim and said, "You look just as stupid as any white man now."

Nora had to walk away, as she was instantly, overwhelmingly nauseous, and not from the sight of Miles' ridiculous ten-gallon hat. In fact, absurd as he looked, the hat made Nora nostalgic for her childhood in Texas. Perhaps the illness was just the thought of meat first thing in the morning. God knows her intestines had barely recovered from their sludge of yore. Once Nora was some distance from the campfire, she fell to her knees and vomited.

Nora heaved twice more before she felt a gentle hand pull back her hair. It was Laura.

"Ok, Ohiyesa?" came the gentle voice from behind.

Nora nodded but still felt terrible. She had her eyes squeezed shut.

Laura offered her some water from a canteen and slowly Nora drank.

Nora sat for a spell and eventually the wrenching urge to turn inside out passed. Suddenly, she panicked. "You don't think it's the Wasteland sickness, do you?"

Laura shook her head. "No. We're not close enough yet. Are you…" then Laura cocked her head and smiled coyly at her friend, "are you using precautions with Ohiti ke Ceta?"

Nora gazed at Laura like she was crazy. "You think I'm pregnant? I can't be!"

"Can't you?" Laura asked in a motherly tone. "I was sick with Weayaya like that. Lately, you've seemed tired in your saddle."

Nora shook her head. "How could you notice a thing like that?"

"I notice everything. It's why I'm chief."

"Well…" Alarm was spreading in Nora's chest. "I suppose it's possible. We haven't been all that careful lately. But how can I know?"

"Listen to your body."

"What if I don't want to hear?" Nora pressed her fingers to her temples.

Laura studied her. "You don't think Brave Hawk would make a good father? Too much blood on his hands?"

"No, it's not that. Believe me. I've got plenty of blood on my own hands."

"You love him?"

"Yes."

"He know that?"

Nora smiled and got up, dusting off her pants. "We don't really talk to each other like that, Laura."

"How else do two people in love talk to each other?"

"You think he loves me?" Nora asked, her worst fear suddenly welling up in her throat. That she had voiced it was a testament to her great trust in her new friend.

"Yes. Like I said: I see everything." Laura smiled, and they walked arm in arm back to camp. Luckily by the time they reached the smoking fire, the bison had all been consumed. The air no longer reeked of roasted red meat.

* * *

After two more days of riding, Nora sensed a change in the environs before she saw it. They were deep in a landscape of sharp red rocks, cliffs, and endless desert, but the finest gray dust was floating on the wind like downy feathers.

"What is it?" she asked no one in particular, shifting warily on her horse.

Miles had been riding silently alongside her and put out his hand like a child catching snowflakes. He pressed the gray matter in between his thumb and forefinger and then smelled it. He looked at Laura, and Laura looked at him.

Laura compelled Miles to speak with her eyes, but he shook his head like he believed he was going insane.

"Go ahead: say it," Laura urged.

"Ash?" Miles finally muttered. "Volcanic ash? Smells almost sulfury."

"That's what I was thinking," Laura agreed.

"But how could…is there a volcano out here?" Miles asked in disbelief.

Laura shook her head seriously. "I have no idea."

Nora coughed into her hand, feeling slightly nauseous again, and Laura's head snapped back to look at her young friend. Nora saw something set in Laura's face.

Laura stated firmly, "Nora and Miles: we won't be needing your assistance anymore. Go now and don't look back."

"Sorry?" Miles asked in confusion.

"You heard me, Brave Hawk. Go back to the Republic. There is no room for discussion."

Miles' mouth hung open.

Laura suddenly pointed her rifle at him.

"Laura, come on. Don't shoot me," Miles complained, putting up his palms. "Explain what's going on here."

"I already have. You're leaving."

Miles looked at Nora, whose brow was furrowed in thought. _Laura is afraid_, Nora thought. _Laura believes I am pregnant. _Ah. There it was. Laura was giving them a chance to have their baby – if indeed there was a baby to be had.

Nora finally shifted her gaze away from studying Laura to meet Miles' piercing brown eyes. She nodded to reassure him.

"You heard the chief. Let's go," Nora said.

Miles looked like he was going to object again, but finally, he just shook his head. He rode briefly over to Shappa and they grasped right arms in a firm, manly show of affection. He nodded at Laura and tried not to look at Wea, who appeared in utter shock at her mother's sudden declaration.

Miles and Nora put a good bit of desert in between themselves and the Sioux party before Miles tried to speak to Nora again. "You know what happened back there?"

Nora just shook her head. She barely shifted her eyes to look at him. Though she was certainly no coward, she found she didn't have the guts to voice the fears gathering in the pit of her belly – fears that were manifesting as another wave of nausea. Bringing a child into this violent, endless night? How could she protect something so completely helpless, so utterly un-self-sufficient as a human baby? They were stupid creatures, really, when you thought about it. Big bobbly heads, teetering on fragile bones. They couldn't feed themselves or walk. How did any baby survive anymore?

Nora stole a glance at her riding companion. Miles' square, stubbled jaw was set – his dark eyebrows furrowed in thought. There was no denying it – Miles was utterly, ruggedly beautiful to her. He was the perfect specimen of man, and it made no difference that he was ten years her senior and a recently retired dictator of supreme bloodthirstiness. He was the sun. He burned and destroyed, but he also illuminated everything around him. She hoped she'd have a boy.

"Take a picture – it'll last longer, Clayton," came Miles wry voice out of the silence. He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye.

"Lame expression. And utterly meaningless in this world," Nora complained, but she smiled. She knew Miles didn't mind being admired. After a long silence, she asked, "Do you have any photographs from…back then?"

Miles lied without thinking: "No." In fact, he did have a photograph of himself flanked by Rachel and Ben on their wedding day. He had held it so many times that it was ragged at the edges. Miles realized that Nora didn't even know he had a brother. There was so much about each other they didn't know. "Do you...have any pictures?" Miles asked.

"No," she responded. The truth. Another lengthy stretch of silence passed before Nora asked, "Know any riding songs? This is gonna be a long trip, and you're not particularly known for your conversation skills."

Miles tipped his cowboy hat, making Nora giggle. He began singing:

"Oh my darling, oh my darling

Oh my darling, Clementine

You are lost and gone forever,

Dreadful sorry, Clementine.

Light she was and like a fairy,

And her shoes were number nine,

Herring boxes without topses

Sandals were for Clementine.

Drove her ducklings to the water

Every morning just at nine,

Hit her foot against a splinter

Fell into the foaming brine."

Nora objected, "God, are those the words to that song? They're awful!"

"Learned it in boy scouts," Miles confirmed.

"In what?" Nora cried in disbelief. For a long moment Nora tried to imagine Miles as a boy scout but finding it impossible continued, "Done in by a splinter! Does the song have a happy ending?"

"No."

"Well, finish it anyway," she requested.

Miles instantly obliged:

"Ruby lips above the water,

Blowing bubbles soft and fine,

But alas, I was no swimmer,

So I lost my Clementine."

"Ugh."

Miles shrugged. "Dumbass couldn't swim. Don't worry, babe. I was a Marine. I got you."


End file.
